


All I Want for Christmas

by FlintMcC



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Christmas romantic fantasy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-26 17:01:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21751762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlintMcC/pseuds/FlintMcC
Summary: This one is a little different. It’s a “Buddified” version of an original story that I wrote a few years ago at a very dark time in my life. It was the holiday season. My elderly father was hospitalized and quite ill (he eventually recovered). My mother had been dead for more than 20 years. I have no brothers or sisters. I felt utterly alone and very frightened of the future. One night I even found myself kneeling beside my bed crying. I got myself through this difficult time by writing a little gay Christmas fantasy that was inspired by a very hunky Christmas ornament. I’ve adapted that story for our favorite "9-1-1" boys.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz
Comments: 6
Kudos: 42





	All I Want for Christmas

In my opinion, the weather we were having that December was perfect for the holiday season. It wasn’t too cold, but it was cold enough that any precipitation fell as snow rather than as rain. A few snowflakes were falling that evening as I strolled down one of the more expensive shopping streets in town, a block lined with high-end boutiques, specialty tea shops, small art galleries, antiques shops, and shops that sold expensive hand-made glass and pottery tchotchkes.

I was feeling happy. Snow, even just a few flurries, always put me in a good mood. It was three days before Christmas, and even though I had left childhood behind long ago, still, I always felt some sort of happy anticipation as Christmas approached.

I had much to be happy about. I had a job I liked in a small but prestigious publishing house, one of the few remaining independent publishers, kept going mainly as a vanity project by the very wealthy publisher. I had a cozy apartment in a beautifully preserved and restored Victorian townhouse. I had friends I enjoyed. I was considered “cute” with my light brown hair, blue eyes, and body that I kept in good shape by daily workouts. My life really was quite good.

The only thing that I felt was really missing from my life was a lover, or even just a boyfriend. It would have been nice to have someone special to share the holidays, but I resolutely pushed that thought to the back of my mind. I didn’t want it to ruin my good mood. Unexpectedly I found the lyrics of a goofy old Christmas song, “All I Want for Christmas is my Two Front Teeth,” running through my head. The difference was, the lyric I was hearing was “All I want for Christmas is a hot boyfriend.” I laughed out loud at the silliness of it.

Almost at the end of the block, I stopped in front of a collectibles shop that must have had a hundred or more Christmas ornaments hanging in its plate-glass window. Among the ornaments were mermen with great arms, shoulders, and abs, each dressed in some outfit that was clearly intended to cater to different gay fantasies. There were police officers, firefighters, soldiers, sailors, leather bikers, cowboys, athletes, even one in the brown shirt and cap of a well-known package delivery service.

I remembered this line of ornaments from the previous Christmas, but this year there seemed to be a new group. Interspersed among the mermen were fairies. They were by no means Tinkerbell-type fairies but very hot male figures with lean, muscular bodies and well-defined abs, each wearing some sort of loincloth that showed a distinct bulge in the crotch.

One fairy figure in particular caught my eye. He had lustrous, dark-brown hair. He had an almost aristocratic face with a thin scruff of a beard and mustache. The eyes were hazel. His loins were covered by the sort of draped cloth that you might see on a statue. His wings were a translucent blue. He was posed in a position that reminded me of a classic cruising stance, with one leg bent at the knee, the foot placed behind as if leaning against a wall. I immediately went into the shop.

The proprietor greeted me genially. With his white beard, he might have passed for Santa Claus if Santa’s beard were shorter and his waistline considerably smaller. I asked about the fairy ornaments. “They’re new this year,” the proprietor said, “and they’ve been selling better than the mermen.”

I asked about the one that had particularly caught my attention. “That’s Edmundo,” the proprietor said.

“Edmundo?”

“Each one has a name,” he explained. He pointed out the different ornaments. “That one’s Carlos,” he said, pointing. “That one over there is Antonio. The one to the left is Ricardo.”

“Why do they all have Spanish names?” I asked.

“The sculptor was born in El Paso, so I guess he gave all of them Spanish names.” He went on to explain that the ornaments were made of resin and manufactured in China. “Where else, these days?”

“Well, whoever the artist is, he’s an amazing talent,” I said. “I can’t believe the delicate details. You’d almost expect them to speak to you.” In a way, the Edmundo ornament was actually speaking to me. In fact, it was practically shouting at me. I pointed to it. “I’ll take that one,” I said.

“You’re lucky,” the proprietor responded. “Edmundo’s sold the best of the bunch. I’ve only got one left.” He picked a box off a shelf behind the counter. Together we opened it carefully to make sure the ornament was undamaged. I held my breath, but, fortunately, it was in perfect condition. The front of the box had an image of the ornament surmounted by a caption that read, “I’m a fairy.” That made me laugh when I noticed it. The shopkeeper just grinned; he’d seen that reaction before. I paid for my purchase and hurried home.

Once there, I was faced with the dilemma of where, exactly, to display my hunky fairy. I had a Christmas tree, but it was only a small, table-top model, far too small to support the weight of the figure. After looking around my apartment, I finally settled on hanging the ornament on the mirror of my dresser in my bedroom. The dresser was an antique I had inherited from my grandmother. The scalloped wooden frame over the top of the mirror made the perfect place to hang the ornament. The fairy figure was the last thing I saw before I turned out the light and went to sleep.

That night I had the most amazing dream. The Edmundo ornament grew to life size, came to life, and gave me the fuck of my life. I woke up drenched in sweat and cum, the bedclothes twisted every which way. I felt a bit sheepish. I hadn’t had a sex dream in years, and this one left me so wide awake and aroused that I had to jerk off before I could get back to sleep.

The next night I had the same dream with the same result, sweat, cum, and tangled bedclothes. “What the fuck is the matter with you?” I asked myself. “Dreaming about being fucked by a Christmas ornament? You’ve gotta be kidding!”

*-*-*

The next day was Christmas Eve. At the office, nobody felt like going to the trouble of an actual Christmas party, so we ended the day with just a little wine and cheese. We all left the office early. Given the time of year, it was already dark. I took a stroll around my neighborhood. It was snowing lightly again. I really enjoyed living in the city at this time of year. Often you could see lights and decorations in windows, even in old townhouses that had been converted to apartments, just like my own building. Sometimes you could even see Christmas trees. After a walk of several blocks through a park that had a large Christmas tree in the very center, I stopped in a small café where I frequently ate and had a light dinner.

After I had eaten, I headed home to make my Christmas phone call to my parents. My mom and dad were disappointed that I hadn’t come home for Christmas, but I had just been there for Thanksgiving, and the traveling had been horrible. When I talked to my mom, she made a point of saying, “Maddie and Howie and the children are here, so why can’t you be here? And your Uncle Bobby and his new wife will be here for dinner tomorrow. You haven’t met Athena, have you?” As we talked, I could hear the squeals and giggles of my little nieces and nephews in the background. It figured that my big sister would show me up by coming for Thanksgiving _and_ Christmas.

“Aw, Mom. I was just there for Thanksgiving, and you know how I got stuck in the airport and almost didn’t make it. I didn’t want to go through that again. Holiday travel sucks.”

My mother sighed. “Well, we’ll miss you, Evan. We love you!”

“Love you, too, Mom,” I replied, “Give my love to Dad and Maddie and Howie, too.” I wished them a Merry Christmas and prepared to keep myself occupied during my solitary Christmas Eve.

The church around the corner from my apartment had a reputation for a particularly fine music program. The choir was largely made up of voice students from a local arts college, and for instrumental music the church boasted an enormous 1920s pipe organ with two complete ranks of pipes. I have always enjoyed the music of Christmas, so I decided to attend the Christmas Eve service. I arrived just as the congregation began singing Christmas carols. I slipped into a rear pew. The church was beautifully decorated, with swags of greenery lining the balcony railings and tall candlesticks attached to the end of each pew. The chancel was decorated with masses of poinsettias and several eight-light candelabra. The altar was flanked with Christmas trees decorated with white lights. I picked up a hymnal and joined in the carol singing. The music of the service lived up to its reputation. The choir’s rendition of the “Hallelujah Chorus” gave me chills. I even took Communion, something I hadn’t done in years.

*-*-*

After the church service was ended, I headed around to my favorite bar. I didn’t like dance clubs, and I had grown tired of cruise bars. In those places I almost always got lucky if I wanted to make the effort, but tricking had come to seem more trouble than it was worth. I liked this place because it wasn’t a cruise bar, nor was it a piano bar, with theater queens belting out off-key renditions of show tunes. The music played on the bar’s sound system was good, but it was pitched low enough that you could actually have a conversation with someone without having to shout in his ear. The crowd that hung out there was more mature, if not in age then certainly in attitude.

When I arrived, the bar was nearly empty. Most of the regular patrons had not yet finished their family Christmas obligations. Michael, my regular bartender, was on duty, and he had my regular drink of single-malt scotch and soda ready before I even reached the bar. I wasn’t quite finished with my drink when Michael put another down in front of me. I looked up, puzzled. Michael cocked his head toward the far corner of the bar. “It’s from the hottie at the end of the bar,” he said.

I wasn’t exactly a slouch in the looks department myself, but “hottie” was an understatement when applied to the guy at the end of the bar. He was gorgeous. I estimated him to be about my age. He had lustrous, dark-brown hair, with just a hint of “scruff” on his face. Even at a distance, I could see that his eyes were hazel. He was dressed “preppy” in a sweater and a tweed jacket complete with suede elbow patches. You could tell by the drape of the jacket that he was in very good shape. His snug jeans revealed an intriguing bulge in the crotch. A scarf hung loosely around his neck. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t quite place him.

When he saw me looking, he smiled—and his smile was positively dazzling. I picked up my drink and approached him. Holding up my glass, I smiled and said, “Thanks!”

“You’re welcome,” he replied, clinking his glass against mine. He continued, “I saw you were drinking alone, and I was drinking alone, and I thought maybe we could drink alone together.” We both smiled at his little joke.

I set my glass on the bar and offered my hand. “Evan Buckley.” I was so nervous (he was so damn gorgeous) that I immediately picked up my glass with my other hand and took a mouthful of my scotch.

He grasped my hand in a firm grip. “Edmundo Diaz.”

At the mention of his name, I swallowed my mouthful of scotch so quickly that I coughed. “Ed-ed-edmundo?” I stuttered.

He looked a little puzzled by my reaction, but he added, “My friends call me Eddie.”

“My friends call me Buck,” I replied.

“Okay, then, Merry Christmas, Buck.” He smiled that dazzling smile again.

“Merry Christmas, Eddie.” I smiled back at him. I was certainly happy to meet this hunk, but it struck me as odd that on Christmas Eve I should meet a guy with the same name as that Christmas ornament I’d been obsessing over.

We chatted a bit about ourselves. We both drank single-malt scotch. I told him about my work in publishing, and he told me that he had just finished his first semester as an assistant professor at a local college. He had a book coming out in the spring, a revision of his dissertation on medieval and Renaissance Spanish literature. He asked me if I had any plans for Christmas Day, and when I said I didn’t, he suggested we meet for brunch. “If you don’t mind diner food,” he said, “I know a place that’s going to be open. They do a mean stack of pancakes!”

“I love diner food, especially pancakes!” I replied enthusiastically. We both laughed, and we agreed to meet.

By then, the bar had begun to fill as the usual patrons, free of their family obligations, filed in to celebrate the holiday with their friends. The noise level rose in proportion to the size of the crowd. Eddie leaned close and touched my hand. I felt a shock, but it may only have been static electricity. “Is there someplace we can go that’s … quieter?” he asked.

“I live just a few blocks from here.”

“Great! Let’s go!”

*-*-*

It was pleasant to walk with him through the wisps of falling snow. When we reached my building, he was charmed by the Victorian elegance of the structure. Once in my apartment, we tossed our jackets on the sofa. “Another scotch?” I asked.

“Sure! Thanks!”

As I headed into the kitchen to make the drinks, I called over my shoulder, “I’m afraid we’ll have to drink it with water. I don’t have any soda.”

“No problem!”

When I walked back into the living room, I nearly dropped the glasses. While I was making the drinks, Eddie had removed his sweater and shirt, and his body was as beautiful as his face, well-muscled but lean, pecs like slabs of alabaster, nicely ripped abs, and an intriguing trail of hair leading from his navel down below the waistband of his jeans. “I hope you don’t think I’m being too forward,” he said.

I don’t remember setting down the drinks, which were immediately forgotten. Nor do I remember how we got into my bedroom, how I got out of all my clothes, or how Eddie got out of the rest of his clothes. The next thing I do remember, we were in my bed, kissing deeply, tongues dueling in receptive mouths, arms and legs entwined, rolling about until we finally came to rest with Eddie on top, which somehow seemed appropriate.

He was a passionate yet gentle lover. I quivered at the touch of his hands, his lips, and his tongue. He was also a responsive partner. He sighed as I tongued one nipple while teasing the other. Slowly I began to make my way down to his crotch. In a quiet voice he said my name as I tongued the length of his throbbing cock. He was uncut, and when I eased back the foreskin and ran my tongue around the cockhead, he gasped and arched his back. I drew him deeply into my throat. Apparently he was too sensitive to take much of my enthusiastic sucking, as it wasn’t too long before he eased me off his cock and pulled me back up to kiss me.

The kiss seemed to go on forever. Finally, “Eddie,” I whispered, “I want you in me. Please, fuck me. Please!”

With an angelic smile, he eased me onto my back and lifted my legs onto his shoulders. He reached over to the bedside stand, opened the drawer, and got out a bottle of lube and a rubber. How he knew they were there I didn’t know, but I suppose everyone keeps lube and rubbers in their nightstand. I moaned softly as I felt him begin to open me with one lubed finger, then two, then three. I watched as he slipped on the condom. Then I felt him ease his cock into me. He was so gentle I felt almost no pain. Then he began fucking me, thrusting slowly at first, then with increasing speed.

I began to jerk my own painfully hard cock, but he gently moved my hand away and began to stroke me teasingly with his own lubed hand in time with his fucking. The combination of his fucking and stroking set off fireworks in my brain. We looked deeply into each other’s eyes. Then, with a groan, he came in me, and I shot my load all over my stomach and chest. I had to bite my lip to keep from crying out, it was so good. I threw my head back, eyes closed. I felt him licking the cum off my heated body.

As Christmas Eve slowly eased into Christmas Day, Eddie fucked me twice more. Each fuck was better than the one before it. Finally we fell asleep cuddled up together like two contented puppies. When I finally awoke, lying on my side, the first thing my eyes fell on was the fairy ornament hanging on the dresser mirror. Then my eyes widened and I gasped quietly as I finally made the connection. I sat up, staring wide-eyed at the figure hanging from the mirror. They were identical, the hair, the eyes, the body, even the scruff: It was Eddie.

“That’s impossible,” I said to myself, feeling vaguely alarmed, though I didn’t know why. But then I groped behind myself and my hand came against the warm thigh of a real, live human being. Eddie was real. He was not some Christmas ornament conjured into life in some fevered sex fantasy. Then I felt two warm lips on the back of my neck and I turned to see Eddie propped up on one elbow, smiling at me.

“Merry Christmas, Buck,” he said softly.

“Merry Christmas, Eddie,” I replied, smiling and pulling him closer to kiss him. He put his arms around me, and I leaned against his shoulder. I felt him nuzzling and kissing my hair.

I heard him say, quietly but distinctly, “I love you, Buck.”

I looked up at him and smiled, “I love you, Eddie.”

Just then I happened to glance at the fairy ornament hanging from the mirror. I would have sworn that ornament smiled at me, but I told myself, “No, that’s not possible.” As Edmundo the ornament looked down on us, Eddie the real, live, warm, human being rolled over on top and fucked me again.

We made it to that diner a little later than we had intended.

**Author's Note:**

> The hunky fairy Christmas ornament that was the inspiration for the original story is manufactured and sold by a company called December Diamonds. The fairy ornaments all have names, as in the story, and the figurine that was my inspiration is called Kalan. I regret I am unable to provide a link to an image of the ornament, but for anyone interested in seeing my original inspiration, a quick Google search should lead to an image of the fairy in question.


End file.
